The Laws of Life
by Hillside Dancing On
Summary: A collection of ficlets centered around the Capital Wasteland's resident hero/vigilante, a young man who proves that it doesn't matter how good your karma is or how many water bottles you give to the beggars. Sometimes life sucks. OC, humor
1. North Side Of A Tree

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape or form own Fallout 3, nor do I make any profit off of it. This particular character, and his game and two add on packs worth of adventures, on the on the other hand, is mine.

While the threat of nuclear war should always be taken seriously, most of the things in this collection should not. Enjoy.

* * *

"…and here it is. On behalf of the treeminders, who tend and cater to His will, and the Great One Himself, I welcome you to Oasis."

The Lone Wanderer, who also went by the name Kirikkale Velestra (or simply Kiri) scarcely heard him. For all he cared, Tree Father Birch could have been pontificating on the delicate art of teaching molerats to play Euchre on hand drawn cards; it couldn't have mattered less.

It was a place of utmost beauty, green canopies throwing spindly shadows onto spongy, soft ground that could be trodden on without the barest trace of radiated dust being kicked up. The air was fresh, clean, oxygenated, and even the pools of water that scent his Geiger counter ticking were crystalline. More than anything, there was a quiet peace to the grove that said it was seldom touched by raider gunfire, if not completely free from it.

Falling on the senses of someone who had witnessed little but bloodshed and lifeless earth since stepping out of the vault and into the sun, it was almost medicinal. That being the case, no one could truly fault Kiri for being awestruck.

Gaping with his jaw half open, on the other hand...

"My God. Three Dog was right. You've got _real trees_ here!"

Birch cleared his throat awkwardly, with the slightest trace of impatience. "Yes…you've said that several times already. But Outsider, the issue at hand…"

"Issue…oh." The blue-eyed, sandy haired young man in the Regulator duster finally snapped to attention, shifting on his wooden seat as he nodded. "Right. Right."

"And your decision?"

Kiri blinked. A few seconds ticked by.

Birch closed his eyes, as if seeking patience from the deity he had mentioned one too many times since the wanderer appeared at the gates.

Somewhere close by, a bird chirped.

"But…sorry, what was that again?"

"The Great One," Birch repeated in a strained sort of voice, taking pains to enunciate his words. "A living, breathing tree. He has expressed a specific desire to meet you. Will you consent?"

"Oh," said Kiri for the second time. "Of course. Yeah, definitely."

"Wonderful." The relief in Birch's tone was evident, and comparable only to merchants who had finally succeeded in hauling especially stubborn Brahmin in out of the hills to be sheltered. "Now, before you can meet with Him, you must undergo the ritual of Purification. You will drink from this basin—" he indicated said basin, sitting to their left—"which will cleanse your body of any impurities that may do Him harm."

Kiri glanced at the thick, viscous liquid, which it would seem had small bits of wood and plant material still floating in it. At the words "cleanse" and "impurities", he couldn't help but be reminded bitterly of the detox treatments he had taken for his occasional buffout addictions—long, long nights spent bent camped out on the bathroom floor, trying not to guess which orifice the impurities in question would choose to exit out of and sweating profusely in between.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes," said Birch. "You have to." Perhaps he picked up on the skepticism in Kiri's eyes, for he went on, "I promise it will not harm you."

After a moment of indecision, Kiri nodded. "All right."

"Excellent. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll go gather the other treeminders for the ritual. I'll only be a minute."

After the old man had left, the wanderer reached down near his feet and patted the head of a scraggly gray dog which had been sleeping unobtrusively until this point. It groaned, but gave a single thump of its tail. He spoke softly to it, enthusiasm apparent in his voice even with the unknown ritual looming just around the corner.

"Isn't this place amazing, Blood?"

The dog (renamed since the day Kiri had found him in the scrap yard with a tag reading "Dogmeat" around his neck and promptly declared the name "stupid") snorted in response.

"I know you don't trust people, Blood. But these people seem pretty friendly, and they can't be all bad if they manage to…stop growling at me! Yes, I remember Andale, but…no, I don't need you to look after me!"

The dog closed his eyes again, huffing a snorty sigh of irritation. Kiri was considering whether or not to press the point with him, as well as the possibility of getting up and briefly exploring some, when Tree Father Birch returned with a group of similarly dressed folks—treeminders, he guessed. They formed a circle around the sap basin and the wanderer that was not at all comforting. Blood raised his head from his paws, ears pulled back just the slightest.

"If you'll just drink deeply of the sap, the ritual can begin."

Kiri stared down into the murky goo and noticed for the first time that there was a small wooden ladle hanging off the side of the basin. Taking a deep breath, he dipped it into the sap, which came away in great, sticky strands, and drank. He had to fight it down his throat, worrying at it with his tongue to stop it from sticking to his teeth, until every drop had made its way to his stomach.

The moment it was there, he realized this was no detox injection.

A warm buzzing sensation was spreading out from his stomach into his limbs, up into his head, making his vision shimmer and shine around the edges. His legs felt so thick and heavy that he worried he would stumble, leaning forward onto the rim of the basin for support. Somewhere around him, he could hear the Treeminders speaking, each word perfectly clear in his ears, while at the same time sliding over his entire body like a lick from a vast, invisible tongue, and underneath it all he could hear the sound of Blood growling.

He wasn't sure if it was frightening or pleasant, if his senses were being heightened or slowed down. Through dilated eyes he looked frantically from one treeminder to the next, head swimming with each small motion of turning it, time rolling out slowly, like a boiling kettle. Kiri barely even realized when they were finished, only that he was suddenly aware of Birch's voice coming at him.

"Soon, Outsider, you will pass peacefully into sleep. And when you awaken, you will behold his glory."

"No…"

But he was already shutting down. He brought his hand up to lay against his own forehead, an act that seemed to take up simultaneously all his strength and several years. Aware of his knees hitting the ground, the world went white—and then Birch's words proved truthful. Kirikkale passed into a more peaceful sleep than he could ever remember.

**************************

Something was digging painfully into his cheek.

He felt warm. Amazingly pleasant, actually…like he used to back in his bed, wrapped up in two blankets, at home in the vault; like he did when Veyers stopped in during his travels and could be persuaded to spend the night.

But he was not in the vault, his house, or any bed to speak of. Even before he opened his eyes, it was painfully clear that he was on the ground. The sound of Blood whimpering came from the area just above his head, which meant…

The light assaulted his eyes as he forced them open, and his weary body protested his next action of sitting up. He wiped his cheek and spat—he had been breathing in dirt. The dog licked his cheek.

"Blood? What happened?"

Another whimper. Kiri looked around, finding himself not in Oasis but the middle of the wasteland. The sun beat down on him harshly; it was amazing he hadn't been found by Radscorpions. Shaking his head to clear his mind of the drug, the wanderer patted his dog, finding a sense of normalcy there.

"I'm fine, buddy. But I still don't…oh…oh no, come on…"

He patted down his pockets, his supply sack. The groan he gave echoed throughout the empty wasteland.

"Awwww, they robbed me!"

* * *

A/N: This scenario was the first thing to come to my mind after the "ritual" in the Oasis quest, and refused to leave me alone until I'd written it.

Me being an utter asshole, I would have put it in the game too, if I'd had any power over it. Be glad I don't.


	2. Domestic Help

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape or form own Fallout 3, nor do I make any profit off of it. This particular character, and his game and two add on packs worth of adventures, on the on the other hand, is mine.

Veyers, who was mentioned in the last chapter, belongs to his creator.

Warning: This one's got some mild malexmale intimacy, so tread carefully if that isn't your cup of tea.

* * *

Kiri loved his house. He really did.

True, it had never been as airy as the Tenpenny Tower suites or secure as the vault rooms, and he had never been able to completely do away with the iguana-oil-and-feet scent that had plagued the place since day one, but it was hard earned back when he was just a ragged, lonely vault escapee struggling to find a bed, and it was his.

And even though he was fondly satisfied with all of it, from the threadbare, pre-war rug to the bursting locker to the lawn gnomes standing guard alongside the door (not to be mistaken for the scorched one upstairs sitting alongside the checkerboard…that was Cubert Gnome, and Cubert was family), he had a special place in his heart for two things in particular.

The first was his collection of deathclaw hands. They dotted the left wall in places, but mostly occupied a sizeable space between couch and locker, all preserved with a potent little chemical concoction courtesy of the Rivet City History museum, piled up carefully like a grotesque answer to the autumn leaf heaps of old. They had a tendency to make visitors discard tact and visibly grimace (not that he had many visitors), but Kiri adored them. Each one was a silent testament to not just one victory, but his long road to assimilation into wasteland life. At last, he was strong enough not to be their prey.

The second was his books.

Whatever else he happened to be, Kiri was an avid reader. Back in Vault 101, he had devoured and re-devoured the woefully small stock of books available, everything from the western folk tales that would later motivate him to become a Regulator, to War and Peace, to the controversial Vault Boy Has A Secret. That had not changed on the outside.

That was why he was marching home with his shoulders hunched under the sizeable weight he carried, mostly made up of the usual armor and guns, but pushed to the near-breaking point by over a dozen pre-war books. Stacked underneath a bed in a bombed out house, Kiri had nearly missed them; if it hadn't been for Blood nosing at a skeletal arm which had also rolled under there at some point, he surely would have.

Trotting at his Master's heels at a parallel slow pace, the dog snorted.

"I do_ not_ have my priorities in the wrong order, Blood. If I didn't take them, the raiders would have just used them to start a fire. Besides, what if there's something we could learn in here…and it saves our lives someday?" Although he didn't look down out of fear of tripping, he felt the dog's gaze, mismatched and disapproving. "No, I don't think so. I don't think the mines I dumped out would have done any more for us; they were just frag mines after all. No, not the guns either. We've got plenty of them"

Any further "conversation" came to a halt as they reached the steep path that reached into the upper levels of Megaton. The house may have been the first one on the block (so to speak), but the short climb had his spine crying out in protest.

"Anyway," he said, fumbling with his keychain singlehandedly. "I think I saw a cookbook in there. I'll see if I can tweak one and make us some better Brahmin steak, alright?"

Blood's ears shot up. Even if he had never understood a single other word his owner had ever said to him during their time together, he was quite familiar with "steak." Kiri laughed as the door swung open, he stepped inside—

And very quickly stopped laughing.

"What the hell?!"

Nearly everything that had been standing upright when he went out scavenging had been transferred to the floor.

The sentry gnomes lay face down like tiny drunks. Canned and boxed food, while mercifully still packaged, was spread out at the base of the shelf; the coffee table lamp had rolled halfway across the floor, and his entire work bench had been swept clean (it was a miracle the bottlecap mine hadn't gone off). And not a single book had been spared.

The deathclaw collection, it was noted after a frantic check, somehow had been.

Setting his supply sack down and only dimly aware of the relief this brought, he weakly knelt to pick up a fallen, slightly charred thesaurus. Obviously the place hadn't been robbed—nothing was missing. And Blood would have smelled a stranger. As it was, he simply picked his way over the mess to his food bowl, where a few morsels of meat and bone had dried out.

Worse than the sight of it, even more grating than the prospect of cleaning it all, was the knowledge that this wasn't the first time this had happened.

"Wadsworth!" Kiri called. "Come here!"

The whir of mechanical parts and jet power that was always present in the house suddenly became even louder as the robot floated around the corner from the kitchen.

"Good evening, sir," he greeted, bright and cheerful. "What can I do for you?"

Forcibly reminding himself that yelling at his servant would serve little purpose, Kiri held out the book and spoke through gritted teeth. "How many stampedes did it take to do all this?"

"Exactly none, sir. That's the way with these messes, they start out as just a bit of clutter, and then the next thing you know—you can't take a step in your own house!"

Kiri felt his eye twitch. "No, Wadsworth. _Your _propulsion system knocks things around whenever you move."

"Me?" Somewhere in between the lines of the crisp British accent and affected innocence, Kiri was sure he heard the Mr. Handy unit's unseen smile and felt himself inching closer to death by stroke. "What makes you say that?"

"Because…it's happened three times already this month."

"Oh, nonsense, sir. I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"…You're going to FLOAT there and tell me that you DIDN'T knock my things around?"

"That's what I'm telling you. You'll find, sir, that my programming inhabits my ability to lie. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have my own work to do."

Before Kiri could ask or even begin to contemplate what that work was, Wadsworth had turned on his proverbial heel and floated away with much enthusiasm. So much, in fact, that one of his arms caught the bulging supply sack propped up against the wall. Kiri scrambled at it with an undignified yelp and caught it inches away from the ground, but he could do little more than horrified disbelief as the flap flew open, nearly a quarter of the spoils of his scavenging and bounty hunting toppling out onto the ground. As he glared at Wadsworth's retreating back, he could have sworn he heard him chuckle.

Then, muttering a few choice words hitherto heard only from raiders, he hung up his coat and began the laborious process of setting his home to rights once more.

* * *

Damn it all to pieces…how did his body manage to stand up to being shot at, tossed, pummeled, punctured, irradiated, nearly drowned, and forced across miles and miles of rolling terrain carrying heavy weights day in and day out, sometimes with little to no food to fuel it, only liquor and a rough jacket to warm it, and a hard ground for it to rest on, and somehow manage to shrug off the pain?

How did it do all this, only to cry out in protest when a little menial housework was added to the roster?

The last of the daylight was fading as Kiri finished cleaning, and the house was beginning to darken. At last he stood up and straightened his back, wincing at the very audible 'pop', before switching on the lights.

"Hey, Blood? Do you ever wonder where the town gets its power from?" The dog, chewing on a piece of roast squirrel, tilted his head. "I mean, really. Think about it. Fuel? There are the Power Stations, but God knows why they're still standing, let alone producing energy after 200 years left alone. Is it nuclear? Wind? Solar? And where the hell did _that_ come from? "

He pointed accusingly at the squirrel meat between Blood's paws. The dog, after favoring him with another second or two of staring, went back to eating it.

"Hmph…"

He was just weighing his options of either getting to work on the new railway rifle schematics he'd found or the happy trinity of food, shower, and sleep, when a heavy knock rapped on the door, cutting through the ever present sounds of Blood's panting and Wadsworth's jets. Although not in the greatest mood for visitors, he went and looked out the small window, and what he saw was enough to make him lunge for the doorknob--

Remember it was locked, fumble with said lock, and open the door more calmly.

"Veyers?"

"Hey, kid," replied the deep, raspy voice characteristic of a ghouls, lifelong smokers, and people with severe throat illnesses.

Standing in the doorway was a man. He was clearly a wasteland rover; from the heavy, dusty armor he wore, with the great spiked shoulder pads, to the deathclaw gauntlet on his right hand, he managed to be intimidating in all the ways that Kiri was not. What stood out most was the fact that his face was completely obscured by a welder's mask.

The Lone Wanderer was torn, as he always was, between taking a step towards him and instinctively keeping a hand on his gun. In the end, he settled the argument as he usually did, by throwing his arms around the neck of the man, who reluctantly reached up one arm and gave him a loose embrace.

"It's been so long," Kiri half laughed into his shoulder. Veyers always smelled distinctly of hot sun, Nuka cola, and faintly rotting flesh, and for some reason this made Kiri happy. "I wasn't sure if…I mean…"

"I know what you mean," the ghoul cut him off. "Don't worry. I can handle myself just fine." His gloved hand finally settled on the back of the wanderer's neck, where it squeezed just faintly. "Looks like you can too."

Kiri's heart jumped about a mile in the air, not so much from the rare gesture of affection which when it came to Veyers was like trying to extract tiny bits of straw from solid rock, but from the compliment. Ever since the two had met some seven months ago in the trenches of the mall, only three things had become clear about the masked man.

Number one, he was a ghoul. Number two, he liked Nuka Cola. Number three, he held no high expectations of Kiri, believing that it was only pure dumb luck to thank for his having survived so long. For this last point of view to be rescinded even the slightest was like watching a patch of flowers bursting up through the wasteland dust. Flowers with radiation burns and clawed…leaves…but the sentiment was still there.

Beyond that, Veyers kept his secrets under lock and key. Their relationship had been a patchwork one at best, the two meeting up usually by chance in their travels, sometimes aided by the odd tip in regards to one another's whereabouts. When they did finally end up meeting, whether it was to combine forces for a raider hunt or merely a shared bowl of noodles, any conversation that occurred would linger on the subject of the present only.

Sometimes they would barely talk at all.

Kiri finally pulled away, face coloring as he wondered whether or not the neighbors were watching. He doubted they were; Megaton citizens weren't as prone to gossiping as some of the people in other settlements. Still he didn't really want to chance it; for better or worse, his name was well known, and he didn't care to have news of his personal life leaking into the shops, then to the caravan merchants, until one day he turned on the radio and heard Three Dog announcing it.

He could hear it now.

"_That kid from Vault 101 must be getting pretty lonely, 'cause the word is he's been spotted bringing masked guys into his house late at night. So much for our old pal James getting any grandchildren. Ah, but you can't blame him. Everyone needs a dive in the dark now and then, am I right? You go, Vault 101. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."_

The fact that Three Dog (usually) had more important news and (probably) wouldn't report something like that didn't really matter. It was enough to make him pull Veyers into the house in record time, double-locking the door behind them. The other man seemed to take it in stride, setting his supply sack down beside the work bench and rolling his own weary shoulders.

"Your dog around?" A seemingly casual question, but Kiri knew better. Veyers and Blood had no great love for each other; Blood thought the man was getting too close to his master for his liking. Veyers thought Blood smelled.

"He's probably sleeping somewhere in the house. He knows I let you in, so I don't think he'll come out." A pause. "He really is getting to like you, y'know."

Veyers snorted as he took off his mask. "Damn dog keeps mistaking me for meat. The last time I saw him, he tried to eat my foot."

"He does that to everyone!" Kiri lied.

The older man scoffed. He set the large mask down on the back of a chair before turning to face the wanderer, showing him his face for only the second time ever. Even after suffering the devastating effects of whatever accident had irradiated him, there was still a light in his eyes, strength in his jaw indicating he had once been very handsome. To Kiri it was a bit like the aged and war torn monuments peppering the capital...there was a grace in spite of the destruction, a shadow of past glory.

"You're staring again, Kiri."

The younger man snapped out of his reverie.

"Sorry," Kiri chuckled, scratching the back of his head even as he was mentally kicking himself in it. "My mind wanders."

"Ah."

They stood in silence, and Kiri noted for the first time in a while that he couldn't hear Wadsworth's jets. Call it good luck. Tossing out an awkward smile, he raised his shoulders in a half shrug.

"Er…you want something to eat?"

* * *

"Oh God, yes!"

The two came crashing through the bedroom doorway, tangled up in one another like a mass of fishing line. There was a yelp of pain as the back of Kiri's leg slammed into the desk, followed by a hiss, followed by a mumbled apology, and then they were back to viciously painting the room with articles of cast asunder clothing.

"Goddamnit," Veyers groaned as his pants were undone with enough force to send the buttons flying, his hips gripped and pressed up close to Kiri's once, twice, three times, with precise, friction-filled accuracy. "I don't remember you being…this…how long has it been?"

"Weeeks…" His voice sounded too high pitched in his ears, too wanton. It was as though all of those weeks that had lain relatively dormant in the face of the daily struggle for survival were surging awake, turning his blood hot and heady, winding him up so tight it was a sweet pain. Clearly the feeling was mutual, because the next thing he knew he was lying flat on his back while his orphan-grade mattress squealed in protest, and Veyers was holding his wrists up near the headboard with one hand and _ohgodohgod_ stroking him with the other, and that wasn't the mattress squealing and—

_Thud._

His eyes flew open. He hadn't even realized he had closed them…his first thought was that the bed had broken, but Veyers wasn't stopping, although he had slowed down…

_Thud! Thud! Thud!_

It was coming from downstairs. Very distinct, flesh and bone on floor. Kiri only had a split second to cringe and wonder what he'd done wrong in life that—

_ThudthudthudthudthudthudTHUD! THUD! THUD! Thudthudthudthudthudthudthud…_

Somewhere between the sound of the thirtieth deathclaw hand and the fiftieth, Veyers sat up and took his hand, and together they listened to the sound of one-hundred-and-eighteen stacked hands falling to the ground. Somewhere in between lay the smaller bumps and crashes of other things comng down as they were knocked about by rolling limbs. Only after what seemed an obscene amount of time did the din slow, then stop. In spite of it all, Kiri might have been able to handle it with decorum, if it hadn't been for the familiar voice that came drifting up the stairs in the aftermath.

"It appears your…collection of deathclaw trophies has fallen, sir. Might I suggest you take more care lashing them next time?"

Something cracked behind the Lone Wanderer's eyes, calm as a stagnant pond but every bit as festering. Sitting up, he reached underneath the bed and from the darkness produced a combat shotgun. Veyers flinched behind him, clearly thinking he was about to be the victim of a murder-suicide, but this was not the case. Kiri left the room without a single word, firearm cradled in his right arm, holding a pillow over his lap with the left. The last thing Veyers heard was the sound of his footsteps retreating into the lower levels of the house, then quiet.

Then yet more quiet.

And then at last he heard the shots, three in succession that shook the house like a barfight sucker punch. Shotgun blasts might have amounted to the sound of a pin dropping when they occurred out in the wastes—not so much that tiny house in that cramped settlement.

When Kiri came back upstairs, his expression wasn't as tight and dangerous as it had been, but quite a few stands of his generally blasted back hair had fallen into his eyes, and he was still very naked. For once in his life, Veyers hesitated to clear this throat and speak up.

"Er…did you really shoot him?"

"…"

"…Kiri?"

"…No." Kiri shoved the gun back under the bed. Veyers visibly relaxed. "No, I didn't."

Whatever else had occurred down there, the ghoul would have to wait until the following morning to find out. Kiri kicked the door shut behind him, tossed the pillow back onto the mattress, and without ever looking back, returned them to where they'd left off.

* * *

Veyers left the next morning, just before the sun started to rise.

Kiri dug the shot out of the wall and fixed the holes. Eventually he started to feel bad and apologized to Wadsworth for shooting at him, even if he hadn't really meant to hit him. Even so, it was three weeks before the robot would dispense water, citing a newly discovered bit of programming that shut down his serving circuits whenever he'd been threatened, and it was a solid six months before he would speak without being spoken to.

But things in the house stopped mysteriously being knocked down after that.

If that could be called peace, peace prevailed.

And the neighbors did talk.

* * *

Wadsworth's behavior is only slightly exaggerated here. This wasn't inspired by some deep-seated venom I've got for the guy; he seems to love trashing my house, knocking everything over as he floats around. Especially the pre-books which take forever to position on the shelf.

This little phenomenon only happens on my first game, my main one, the one with Kiri. The Wadsworths and Godfreys of my other characters and people I know who also play Fallout 3 never do this. I feel bad shooting him, so I've just accepted that he really, really hates Kiri.

Finally, a small note on Dogmeat's name change. Contrary to belief, I actually don't hate the name "Dogmeat", and I do realize that it's a homage to the dog who starred in the first Fallout, and that the capital version is his direct descendant. If you received him in-game from an NPC, someone who actually handed him over and said "His name is Dogmeat," I wouldn't have messed with it.

But he's not. He's a junkyard stray who you hook up with, which to me feels like you should have the option to name him yourself. At the very least, you should be able to do so with his puppies.

Right from the start I knew that he was going to be my character's sole companion, partner, and probably one of the only people (?) that he can really rely on. Eventually his personality began to take on a shape of its own. He became much more than just the Lone Wanderer's dog, and he seemed to deserve a name all his own.

So I replaced one homage with another. Blood is named after the character in the 1975 post-apocalyptic film _A Boy And His Dog._ I've never regretted it.

You're free to pretend he's still Dogmeat if you like, though. He really doesn't give a flying hell what you call him.


	3. Sailing Home

Disclaimer: I in no way, shape or form own Fallout 3, nor do I make any profit off of it. This particular character, and his game and two add on packs worth of adventures, on the on the other hand, is mine.

* * *

The mists that surrounded Point Lookout, Maryland, did not go on forever.

It just seemed like it after you had been there a while.

Slow as a trickle of oil, the _Duchess Gambit _drifted down the murky waters of the Potomac, bound southward. At the wheel was a young woman whose hair had once been such a bright orange color, you could see it half a mile away in a world where nothing bright flourished. Over time though, it had faded to a shade in between pale yellow and brown, roots coming in vividly to make it even more mismatched.

Leaning on the bow was a young man who had once been recognizable as savior of the wastes, someone who had fought off super mutants and freed slaves and traveled countless miles on foot to deliver messages that needed to be heard. Like misty Point Lookout, though, there was always more than just what could be seen on the surface.

The trademark Regulator duster was in three neat enough pieces in his supply pack along with his beloved, newly scorched hat. Instead he wore a loose cotton shirt and pants taken (very) reluctantly from Tobar's closet. Although his hair had grown out a great deal in the month they'd been traveling, more a carpet of browns curls than a shorn sheep, it still wasn't anywhere near what it had been before the incident. Before the tribe.

The Terrible Shotgun hung over his shoulders, as familiar as skin itself. At the very least that hadn't changed.

"We should be docking early sometime tomorrow morning, if it even takes that long." That was what Nadine had told him earlier. "Bet you'll be happy to get back to your day to day."

He had smiled, pushing a laugh that he had to admit sounded more convincing than anticipated. Nadine had been through just as much. No reason to burden her. Only…

…Only, how _could_ he go back to the business of living after everything that had happened? After all the things he had seen?

"_Hello? Is anyone out there? Aahhh…it hurts…hurts!"_

_This is one situation you're not going to be able to fight your way out of._

"_Mom? Mom, please don't leave me, oh God, I'm sorry for everything, I didn't mean to do it, I never wanted you to die. I'm sorry I killed you, but I'll be a good son and I'll make you proud…please! Come back!"_

"_Dad! Dad! Amata! Moira! Oh, fuck, no!"_

"_Make it stop…make it stop…" _

He tried to imagine how much if this, how much he more he would never remember, had been cried while he had been laid out unconscious. Then he pictured himself, head opened up over a towel out on the balmy swamp floor, writhing in a tormented, drugged stupor. Tobar chuckling like it was all a great joke while reaching for the tweezers… and that line of thinking came to an abrupt end.

Kiri touched the smooth, pale scar that arced across his skull, roughly where the prefrontal cortex lay below. He was alive, but by the skin of his neck. Sheer dumb luck. A slight slip of the ferryman's hand and he would have been either a vegetable or one of the glassier-eyed members of the tribe, struggling to string together even the simplest of sentences while Woodrose made sure he remembered to eat. Another slip and he would never even have made it out of the bog.

How could he possibly save the world when he couldn't even manage to save himself?

Not that Tobar would be hurting anyone else.

Kiri shivered as a passing breeze rolled over the water. It was only March according to the Pip-boy, and the weather had been much harsher up north, but the sparse hair and lack of his usual heavy leather clothing took the chill right through him.

The soft sound of footsteps coming up from behind heralded Nadine's approach without her needing to say a word; it wasn't as though anyone else was riding.

"Hey." As he turned to face her, she popped an ice old bottle into his hand, a mirror image of which was held in her own. "You looked like you needed it."

Kiri was suddenly reminded of why he liked her. "Thanks. But shouldn't you be steering the ferry?"

"Have a little faith in me. We've been on this thing long enough that I've learned a few tricks of the trade already." Wiping the dusty bottle off on her shirt, she popped the cap on the side of the railing, holding it out so that the foam fell and drifted away with the river below. Not really possessing the strength to argue the point, Kiri did the same. "If I crash, you can drown me."

"Cheers." They clinked bottles and drank a little more deeply than necessary. Cold beer, cola, or even clean water was a rare thing. Kiri wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Your mom'll be glad to see you. I'm sure she didn't expect you to come home a captain."

Nadine chuckled. "Yeah, good thing I finally got the engine room cleaned out. I'd hate to explain that one when I'm giving her a tour of the place…and that was before you had your little talk with Tobar. It took me all this time to find all the pieces of him."

"Sorry." He was, too. Although he hadn't had any plans to let the ferryman live upon heading down to the engine room, nothing could have prepared him for his own reaction. He could still hear the shotgun blast ringing out over and over again, even after the body had dropped; smell the copious amount of blood that got into every inch of the tiny room...it wasn't until all was finally quiet that he would realize there had been tears running down his face. By then there was nothing left but meat.

"It's no problem." Nadine took a swig of the beer. Then, perhaps picking up on the obvious need for a topic change, "So, have you got anyone waiting for you back in the capital?"

It was uncharacteristically personal for Nadine or indeed many that Kiri could name. It was an old question, a more prosperous one, bordering on rude nowadays in that it assumed you had a lot of people that cared about you who were still alive. Lifting the glass bottle up against the fading light, Kiri watched the tiny bubbles rising in the amber liquid.

"My dog."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. Probably waiting for me right in the same place he always does. He'll have wandered away to get food, and once I found him half a mile away chasing some females, belonged to raiders…other than that, he'll be right where he knows I'll find him." He refused to entertain the notion that this time, Blood might not be there. If he started thinking that way, he wouldn't be able to go on.

"Pretty smart," said Nadine.

"Mm." Chin in hand, he tilted his head to her. "How 'bout you?"

"Me?" He nodded, and was surprised to hear her laugh. In the time he'd known her, Kiri had learned that Nadine possessed a great deal of sarcasm, wit like an acidic spike, and a great sense of gallows humor, but she rarely laughed aloud. "Nah. I've got enough trouble handling myself."

They finished the beer in silence, listening to the hum of the engines and the lapping of the Potomac as the _Duchess Gambit_ drifted on.

* * *

They docked the next morning, when the world was colored in varying shades of blue and grey, and the sky was just beginning to really lighten, after cobbling together a makeshift breakfast of wild punga fruit, potato crisps, and water. Standing on the deck in the cool dawn air, the adventurers shook hands.

"Thanks for everything, Nadine. Good luck."

"Naturally. You take care of yourself out there, alright?"

"I'll work on it."

And so, dressed like a patient escaping some ghastly hospital, carrying a bag laden with swampland spoils, Kiri traded the creaking floors of the _Duchess Gambit for_ the firm, familiar terrain of the capital. Thinking that the murky river had never looked so good, or the dark sky so clear, he was ready to run all the way back to Megaton.

But he did not.

As Nadine was tying the ferry into place, she noticed that her former passenger hadn't hiked off into the dawn the way she'd expected to. As a matter of fact, he hadn't moved at all, and was merely standing at the end of the docks, staring off into nothing.

Convinced but not really surprised that he'd lost his mind, she called out to him.

"Hey! Are you alright?"

Kiri turned to answer her with woefully pathetic eyes.

He was touching the side of his head.

"…I can't remember where I live."

* * *

A/N: Wow. That wasn't funny…or it was funny like a building falling down. I'm gonna go off to think for a while…


End file.
